Connect.

"Joy comes from that bliss of connectedness, you can feel it deep inside you, it's a wonderful feeling. And you know it when you get it, you don't get it from money, you get it from connection."
-John Perkins via Gary Carrier

& they danced.

"One house. Two girls. And one too many stories."

http://andtheydanced.tumblr.com/

A Date With Myself.

"Oh what the hell?" I said aloud as I swerved into the next lane over. Taking an immediate left into the parking lot, I checked my wallet for cash. "Just enough" I thought before opening the car door and heading inside.

"What are you crazy girls up to tonight?" the all too familiar man behind the counter inquired with a sly smile. "Not much " I replied as I headed to the back left corner of the store, per usual. "It's actually just me tonight".

" You don't want to try the newest batch of that local stuff you girls love?" he asked as I placed my item for purchase on the counter. "Mmm, not this time" I answered as I placed six dollars and forty two cents on the counter.

Back home in our quiet house, I started to put together what would add up to be my dinner for the evening. Throwing random vegetables into a salad and of course, burning my only piece of chicken left, I couldn't wait to be done in the kitchen. Sitting down at the table I realized something was missing. "Ah, yes.... the wine" I thought. Giving myself the hefty pour of six dollar and forty two cent Chardonnay that I felt I deserved, I returned to our dining room table and settled in to the night and in to the silence.

It is rare to have a summer night alone in our house. Between happy hours and kickball games, working late and dinner dates, concerts in the park and random but always welcomed visits from friends and neighbors, our summer has been the way it should be- packed full of friends, sunshine and way too many late nights.

Finishing up what was salvageable of the meal I had prepared, I went back for seconds. Skipping over the unfortunately charred chicken and heading straight for the chilled white wine, I realized the weight of the situation at hand. So rare is it that I am completely alone for a night in the house, that I could not even remember the last time it had happened. "You deserve this" I told myself as I poured yet another glass of the good stuff. Falling into the sofa, I looked around the room. A pair of neon sunglasses were sitting forgotten on the record player, left over from the costume my roommate wore during the incredible win we pulled out in kickball the night before. A bottle of "after-sun" lotion rested on the window sill, just begging to be reapplied to my sunburnt skin and brutally reminding me that never again will I spend an adventurous weekend camping and boating at 10,000 feet in the mountains sans sunscreen. Our summer bucket list lay crinkled on the trunk that doubles as our coffee table, half of its contents crossed off, causing me to smile and be happy that we are actually getting somewhere with the list this summer.

As I sipped the wine, I soaked it all in. All of it. From the first signs of summer and the bbq we tried to have before it was even warm enough to be outside, to the concert at Red Rocks that we barely remember. From the much needed family vacation, to the many nights spent on our favorite local rooftop, the Ale House. Summer was flying by and I still had so many things to process. I thought about turning 24 and how with every year that passes, regardless of my setbacks and downfalls, I feel myself becoming the person that I am meant to be. I thought about my 25th birthday and the lease I had recently signed, committing me to yet another action-packed year and another birthday celebrated in this house, on this street. I contemplated the repercussions of my own aging in comparison to the aging of my parents who are reaching the point of retirement bliss and who are, with every day, happily becoming more grey. I smiled a sad smile when I thought of my grandmother, in her room resting her eyes, realizing that she is probably still recovering from the Alaskan cruise she took my entire family on in early July. And as a tear fell into my glass, I came to terms with the fact that that family vacation with her, was probably the last of its kind. And I thought about the people I hadn't know for so long, the people that I had just met in the first half of the summer, from dinner dates to new co-workers, bartenders to new neighbors, summer seems to bring out the friendly in people and I was comforted in the fact that we still have a good two months of friendliness left before the fall ensues.

Closing my eyes, I let the sunset and the silence engulf me and I couldn't help but feel as if the night came to me on purpose. It came to me when I needed to slow down, when I needed to think. It came to me so I could process what had happened and what is to come in the next sun filled weeks. And as I turned out the porch lights a few hours later, thankful that no surprise visitors had popped by, I was so content with the date I had just had with myself that I made plans for a second one.

Rarely is it that we schedule time for ourselves. Time to sit. Time to drink a glass of wine and let your mind wander. Time to be. And it was in the me time on that night that I promised myself if I ever found six dollars in my wallet on a quiet evening, regardless of the season, I would buy a bottle of wine, cook myself some dinner and take the time to get lost in my thoughts, in my memories, and in a good glass of wine.

Push and Shove.

"You never did like to be tied down, did you?" his text today read. And as my eyes skimmed over the words, I was immediately taken back to a moment. A moment on the beach at sunset. A blanket, a picnic basket and quite a few tears. "I just can't do it right now" I said. "I knew it." he replied. "That's all I needed you to tell me". The next day he was on a flight home, he was gone. And I, I was free.

Though this conversation on the beach happened over three years ago, my conversation with him today made me realize how much of me has changed, yet how much of me is still the same. You see, my freedom, my independence, the very thing that has brought me so many adventures and experiences in my lifetime, is the same thing that has for years, pushed people away. My ability to be free is one of my greatest qualities and one of my worst. It is initially what attracts people to me and in the end, it is what drives them away. It is the push and shove, the back and forth, the eventual and often times expected, "I'm not ready".

I'm not ready to be with you, i'm not ready to take this job, i'm not ready to stay here, to settle, to start a life. I'm never ready. Yet his text message got me thinking... when will I be ready? At what point in my life will I stop running, stop moving, slow down and start something that will last, and last forever?

As my six month mark at my job has come and gone and my year mark here in the Mile High City inches closer, I wonder if i'm making progress (if it can even be called that). I wonder if i'm taking steps in the direction towards slowing down and finding myself through establishing a life in one place rather than discovering bits and pieces of myself while constantly being on the move. I wondered, how the words of someone who knew me better than myself so long ago, yet barely knows me today, could have such an affect on my thoughts and feelings after this much time has passed.

"How the hell does he know whether or not i'm ready to be tied down, it's been three years since then" I thought to myself, reading too far into his words and letting his statement weigh on my mind and on my heart. Yet after some serious thinking outloud with my roommate and even more soul searching within, I have come to the conclusion that when push actually comes to shove, i'm still not there. I knew what I was letting go of that night on the beach and as hard as it was then, I still stand by my decision today. And while he is building a house and a home with someone else, giving life to her dreams, I am still giving life to my own dreams, learning myself, learning the world and absolutely not letting myself be tied down.... Just yet.

Mud On Your Tires

Sometimes all it takes is a little mud on our boots and a few days in the country, with good people, great food and no cell phone service to ground us and remind us that most often, it is the simple things in life that are truly the most rewarding.

No Excuses.

"Alright Sparky... make sure you meet with your new insurance agent, sign all of those forms I sent you and PLEASE do your research to find a good, reputable doctor in the area" my father said as he wrapped up his lecture. "Well, getting old is the absolute worst" I replied before telling him that I loved him and hanging up the phone.

Looking at all of the important documents sitting in front of me, I couldn't help but feel overwhelmed. As I thumbed through my benefits package, signing on the appropriate lines (which were conveniently flagged with post-it notes thanks to my mother, whom I over-nighted the packet to for advice and direction the week before), I felt as if a part of my youth was swirling quickly down the drain. "When did it reach this point?" I thought, trying to remember the days when I didn't have to worry about license plate renewals or 401K plans.

Putting down my pen, I looked up into the mirror in our living room. "Am I getting wrinkles???" I asked myself as I inched closer to my reflection, scanning the person in front of me, searching for any sign of crows feet or grey hairs. When I had sufficiently covered the entire front of my head, looking for signs of greying, I took a step back and really looked at myself.

Before me stood a young woman. A person who was well traveled, well educated and someone who is just reaching the brink of her greatness. A girl who is still trying to pinpoint what it is exactly that makes her the happiest, but a woman who is well on her way to knowing where she wants to be in life. I stared into her eyes and into the depths of her soul, acknowledging the struggles it took to get her to this place, to this point in life. And I smiled as I realized that the hints of crows feet next to her eyes are merely pure reflections of the number of times she has laughed, cried and smiled in her lifetime thus far.

Sitting back down at the table I looked again at the paperwork in front of me. "I feel old, but I still feel so young" I thought as I signed my life away, glancing at my fluorescent pink nail polish and terrible grey on grey attire.

As I climbed in to bed later, I realized that it wasn't just the influx of serious paperwork that brought on this minor freak out. Tomorrow I turn 24 years old. And while I feel like I am still that young girl who wears pink nail polish, running around with a side ponytail and not a care in the world, I am beginning to realize the power in the wisdom that comes with age. It has been amazing to me to see how fast time flies and how quickly things in life can change. I am looking forward to my twenty fourth year as I am sure it will bring great success both personally and professionally, regardless of the fact that I am one step closer to getting off of my parents' insurance plan and that much closer to my quarter life crisis, which is sure to come on the eve of my 25th birthday. I am not only confident in where I am in my life, what I am doing and the direction that I am headed, but I am certain that I will make room for change and the adaptation that will come with each year ahead. And most importantly, I am comforted in knowing that I don't have everything figured out yet. Because like my benefits package, my search for a new doctor and a new Colorado drivers license, I am still naive, inexperienced and in my opinion, young. And to be honest, that is perfectly alright with me.

Growing Appreciation.

Role Reversal.

"So.... I don't get it. What's the issue?"

I could just picture her, worlds away, staring at her computer screen, sitting in a comfy chair or maybe even snuggled up in a cozy bed, tea on the nightstand, her glasses resting on the tip of her nose. "Well I don't really know" I quickly typed back, "It's just something different. I don't know what I'm doing and I'm feeling shy about it." After a brief pause she began typing a message, the words popped up on my screen, and as I began to read over them I instantly felt better.

"Things come in surprising ways" she concluded after a ten minute back and forth debate about letting go and giving in to the experience of something new and unknown. And as I minimized our conversation window, staring at the list of tasks I had yet to accomplish at work, I felt a wave of sadness rush over me. Of course I was sad because I miss her everyday, but the feelings ran a bit deeper than that on this particular afternoon in the office.

Scanning over the photos hanging up in my cubicle memories of elephant rides in Thailand, late nights drinking wine in Florence and long bus rides across India, I realized that stepping out of your comfort zone is extremely easy to do when you actually are already out of your comfort zone. In traveling, you never know what will come your way and it is quite normal to expect the unexpected as everyday is a new adventure and another chance to try something different. Here in my new-found "young professional" life however, new adventures are hard to come by considering the most unexpected and exciting thing that occurs in my day is when a co-worker surprises us with a box of doughnuts. Don't get me wrong, I love my new job and I really love a good old fashioned doughnut every once in a while, but trading in my jeans and boots for blazers and a nice pair of flats somehow also meant trading in my spontaneity for routine and familiarity, only putting my wander-lusting tendencies on hold for the time being.

My thoughts drifted to my dear friend, living and working in Europe, learning languages, learning love and learning herself. It had always been me giving her the advice before now, sending her emails from the middle of the ocean or a quick text message in between flights. "Let go" i'd tell her, "you don't have to have all the answers now, they'll come to you. Be patient and trust the process". And now, today here we are, and it is her giving me the advice. It is me that needs her words and reassurance.

"What have you got to lose?" she said before signing off and heading to bed. Contemplating her statement, I assessed the situation. "What do I really have to lose?" I thought. Nothing. "Miss you everyday. And thank you. I needed that." I responded quickly before refocusing my attention on my afternoon of meetings and projects.

When I got home from work that day I got to thinking. I thought about the crazy adventures that she will have this weekend in a foreign city, turning strangers into friends and opening every door within herself to the opportunity of experience. I thought about the ways in which I too have been open to new people, cultures and ideas in the past and I wondered, why is it that just because i've developed a routine, I am closing myself to new and different experiences of my own within my new life? Just because I pack my lunch every morning, sit in traffic and classify myself as a young professional, doesn't mean I can't seek out opportunities to get to know someone or to open myself to uncharted territories within this city. "Things come in surprising ways" she told me from oceans away, and though I may not be staring at the Alps or learning Italian, just waiting for some incredible new adventure to fall into my lap, I know that she is right, and I've never been more grateful for places that we are both in at this moment.

In bloom.

It's raining here. And when it rains, I am reminded of Seattle. I am reminded of afternoons when I would pass the time just sitting on our overstuffed red couch, listening to slow, sad songs while watching the rain fall. It would fall for hours, for days, for weeks. Eternities would pass without even a glimpse of sun and then, when I thought I just couldn't go on and the misery of the grayness almost swallowed me whole, the sun would peak through, illuminating our apartment, awakening souls in the city, and restoring faith in the coming of summer. When these little glimmers of light would come, flowers would bloom, people would emerge from their hibernation and I would fall in love with the city all over again. I fell hard for the way the sun danced across the water, the way everything seemed to glow and above all else, the way the cherry blossoms exploded in bloom, opening their arms wide, as if to say "Finally". It is that in-between time in Seattle now. The time that warrants buckets full of rain and the occasional sliver of sunlight. And as I watch the rain fall here in Denver with slow, sad songs playing in the background, I can't help but wonder if it's also raining in Seattle, if the drops are hitting the pavement hard or softly and of course, if the cherry blossoms are in bloom.

Hey Mama Rock Me.

Life As of Late.

Breathe. Go to yoga. Paint your nails. Dress trendy. Dress terribly. Learn the city. Drink good coffee. Become a regular. Love your job. Hate your job. Know your neighbors. Redecorate your room. Find new music. Sit outside. Plan a trip. Take a trip. Wear red lipstick. Go to happy hour. Call old friends. Make new friends. Pay the bills. Pay it forward. Grocery shop. Sit in silence. Date just to date. Buy new shoes. Rent old movies. Grow a garden. Make big plans. Flirt with strangers. Create a home. Create a life. Burn a candle. Wear bright colors. Read a book. Write a book. Drink red wine. Watch the news. Better your friends. Better yourself. Laugh out loud. Call your parents. Break a glass. Break your heart. Go for drives. Talk all night. Challenge yourself. Paint your nails. Go to yoga. Breathe.

Summer Is Coming.

I can feel it.

To Better Yourself.

"And any last parting words?" I asked as I slipped him a twenty dollar bill and stepped out of the cab.

"just do what you need to do to better yourself" he replied as he printed my receipt, gave me a wink and wrapped up one of the most honest conversations i've had in a long time.

"thank you... for everything." I replied as I emerged from the car and headed towards my warm bed. Slipping on my pajamas and recapping the night I thought about him, his family and the reasons why he moved to Colorado in comparison to the reasons why I did.

"Do what you need to do to better yourself" he had said in response to my question and a ten minute conversation about life. And at the end of a long day, a long night and five complete months in the mile high city, that was enough for me to hear. More than enough.

Three Things.

Dream BIG.

This past weekend my roommate and I were feeling crafty. It started in the morning and the feeling continued to get stronger throughout the day. Thoughts of painting, photographing and even knitting were thrown around until mid-afternoon when I remembered something that I have been wanting to do for a long time. "Lets make dream boards" I said as we roamed the aisles of Target, looking for something, anything to grab our attention and occupy our time for the evening.

A short while later there we were. Sprawled out across our hardwood living room floor sharing a pair of scissors, a glue stick and a bottle of white wine. We laughed while reviewing the supplies we had to work with, a combination of old health and fashion magazines and two extremely trendy furniture catalogs. "This could get interesting" my roommate sighed as she began cutting her first piece out of last season's In Style.

As I began to flip through the books, cutting out pieces of my own, I thought about all the things I want out of my life. I started daydreaming about all the traveling I will do, the books I will read (or write) and the people that I will spend my time with. And with each turn of the page I found an image or a phrase that fit perfectly into my dream life. With every cut I added a new element to my future, and I realized that though I'm not getting any younger, my dreams just keep getting bigger and bigger.

Later that night, after our wine was long gone and our fingers were sore from cutting, we stepped back and admired each other's boards. "How'd you find that word?" I whined. "Why is yours cuter than mine?" she responded back. Only after a brief debate and concluding that both of our boards were equally as wonderful, we sunk into our white couch, relaxing and assessing the mess we had made. Paper scraps and thumb tacks covered the floor, while empty stemless wine glasses perched on our make shift coffee table. "I can't clean this tonight" she said as her mouth opened wide with a yawn. Grabbing our dream boards we headed to our rooms feeling both accomplished and fatigued. After hanging my board and getting comfy, I lay in bed staring at my work of art. It was then that I wondered how many of those dreams will actually come true. How many times over the next few months or years will I look at the board, and how many times will I update and add to it? And as I drifted off to sleep I wondered about that night and if during my sleep I would in fact, live out my reality and dream big.

Gypsy Soul.

"you've got a gypsy soul to blame and you were born for leaving."

Rocky Mountain High

Sometimes the city lights and busy life are all-consuming, making it easy to forget the beauty that lies a short drive West. Last weekend however, was spent rediscovering that beauty by cuddling up next to the perfect fire, skiing the perfect conditions, and sipping on the most perfect tasting early morning coffee all while getting lost in the breath taking views and the crisp air of Breckenridge, Colorado. Reminding me of the fact that here, you really don't have to go far to find clarity, peace of mind and as an added bonus, some pretty incredible skiing.

To Be Young.

"Do you girls have any tea?" he asked as he shut the door in a hurry. It was the coldest night of the year in Denver thus far, one of those that only calls for chili, cornbread and a cozy blanket on the couch. Stepping into our living room, he waved while the two of us shook our heads trying to suppress our laughter. As he removed his fleece lined Crocks, shaking snow from the bottom of his pajama pants and pulling his plaid old man robe closer to his body, I smiled and stood to get our neighbor his tea. "Looking good Logan" I said five minutes later emerging from the kitchen with three mugs and a pot of hot water.

"What are you girls up to tonight?" he asked as he sipped on the honey vanilla tea. "Paying bills" my roommate answered in the gloomiest of voices. "It's the worst" I added as we began calculating how much we owed and how much debt we were both about to be in. Conversation then flowed from cutting down on happy hours or trips to San Diego to winning the lotto, to writing a book, to inventing something miraculous, to anything that could possibly put us ahead of our expenses instead of behind.

"Well girls, I'm off to bed. This head cold has really got me feeling under the weather" he said a while later as I breathed a sigh of relief after my mouse clicked, paying the last bill of the month. "God, we're broke" I said aloud as my computer screen went black and I fell back into the cushions of the couch and the comfort of a cozy blanket.

"See you tomorrow" he said as he opened the door to leave. Then turning back, he left us on the couch with these words to ponder: "You know girls, you may be young and broke but don't stress, there's nothing wrong with that. The real problems and stress will come if you're old and broke. And thank God, we've got years until then."

Desire is the Mystery of a Stranger.

7:03 AM. Desperately, I reach for my phone trying to rid my ears of the terrible wailing that is my alarm. Eyes still closed, I curse the day and the start of yet another week. 7:19 AM. Emerging from the shower, I open my eyes for the first time and acknowledge my roommates presence with a simple head nod. It is far too early for words, let alone conversation and as I head back to my room I nearly trip over a pair of heels left on the floor from the previous Friday night out on the town. "UGH! I should've cleaned my room yesterday" I think as I scold myself and try to figure out what exactly I did with my weekend. 7:42 AM. "Coffee's ready" I hear from the other room and as I head to the kitchen I catch a glimpse of the sun rising over the the bare trees on our street. 7:51 AM. Finishing my cereal, I wave goodbye to my roommate as she heads out the door for work, "have a good day" she yells as the door closes behind her. 7:58 AM. Gathering my things and slipping on my shoes, I am just about out the door myself, until I realize my car keys are missing from my purse. Running back inside, I frantically scan my room only to find the missing sons of bitches on the floor under my nightstand of all places.

8:01 AM. Locking the door behind me I shove my lunch into my purse and when I look up my heart skips a beat. Catching my breath for a second I stare straight ahead, there he is. It is a rare occurrence to see him in the mornings. Walking down Hooker Street in his black peacoat, hair perfectly groomed and dark sunglasses which hide his mysterious eyes. "Hey" I say quietly forcing myself to maintain eye contact as I briefly pass him on the sidewalk. "Good morning" he replies with a smile as he continues on down the street. Bee-lining for my car, I am breathing heavily and my fingers may or may not be trembling as I dial my roommates number. "What did I forget today?" she asks as she picks up her phone. "I saw him" I say quickly, cutting her off. "What?! No way you are so lucky!" she whines, and as we converse about what he was wearing, how he looked and the words that were exchanged, I pull off of Hooker street and catch one last glimpse of him as he boards the city bus, briefcase in hand.

He was first discovered about a month after we moved into our house in Denver. My roommate was leaving for work at the exact moment that he was passing by. They exchanged short greetings and after she got into her car I immediately received a phone call, which seems to be the trend for us whenever he is spotted. After many weeks playing the guessing game about his career, his marital status and the exact location of his house, we decided to name him. It was a crisp fall day and we were walking home from picking up a loaf of bread at our local bakery when the subject of him came up. "What do you think his name is?" she asked as we turned the corner onto our block. Ten minutes and a whole lot of terrible ideas later, we settled on Jackson. Jack for short.

Since that initial first encounter he had with my roommate, the Jack run-ins have occurred five or six times, mostly in the mornings at almost exactly 8 AM (which actually works really well as inspiration to get out the door on time daily), but once I swear, I saw him in all his glory walking home from the bus stop shortly before 6 PM on a Wednesday.

"What do you think he thinks of us?" I asked my roommate the other night over dinner. "Do you think he wonders about our lives, the status of our relationships and guesses what our names could possibly be? I wonder if he thinks my name is something awful like Trudence?" Later that night as I was lying in bed Jack somehow made his way into my thoughts. I began pondering strangers and how many people you encounter daily that you really truly know nothing about. I thought of the mechanic who fixed my tail light and the woman I spoke with on the phone for thirty minutes regarding our cable bill, realizing that a great deal of our daily life is spent talking to, looking at and sitting next to strangers.

Take for example sitting next to someone on an airplane. On a recent flight to San Diego my roommate and I watched in disbelief as two complete strangers sitting in front of us engaged in not only small talk, but deep, raw and real conversation that ultimately led to the exchange of phone numbers at the end of our flight and what we are certain has become a "happily ever after story", all starting with two strangers in row 11 on flight number 608. On the other hand however, I remember junior year of high school and the stranger that I passed daily in the hallways between second and third period. He was new to the school, a transplant from Canada who was hired to play for the minor league hockey team in town and somehow sent by some evil force to absolutely torture me (or at least I like to believe so). I mean, I was in like, lust and love all at the same time and I didn't even know the first thing about him. He was my "perfect stranger", but being the naive teenager I was, I couldn't be happy leaving it at just that. After months of working my way into his social scene, sneaking out to too many late night hockey parties with my best friend and finally getting the chance to talk to him, to ask all the questions that I had been dying to have answered, I realized... he was terrible. He was dumb and miserable. An absolute jerk and someone I would not want to spend my any of my time with, let alone the rest of my life as I had so often dreamt about when he was still mysterious and unknown.

And thus, the beauty and the beast in getting to know a stranger, sometimes they can turn into your prince charming, your best friend or your greatest teacher. Yet other times you can be left empty, disappointed and feeling like the worst judge of character in the world. Hence the reason after much thought and internal debate, I have ultimately decided to keep Jack a stranger, the most perfect stranger. His mystery gives me something to contemplate, to get excited about and to look forward to on cold Monday mornings at 8AM. And as my roommate and I continue to wonder how long he rides the bus each morning before he reaches his stop, who if anyone he is going home to, and of course (though we find the one we came up with extremely fitting), what his real name is, we can only hope that he is wondering the same things about the two brunette girls living in the white house on Hooker Street.

Rope and Ride

It was a western kind of weekend. One that was full of rodeos, stock shows and two country concerts for the books. Proving to me that everything truly is more fun when wearing boots and more importantly, that cowboys really do still exist.

Solamente Uno.

I smoked my first cigarette at the ripe age of twenty. It was finals week, I was stressed and my current roommate and I decided to take a break and drive to the beaches of La Jolla circa ten pm on a Tuesday night in an attempt to escape the library and our looming ten-page research papers. We drove straight to the beach and immediately ditched the car and our shoes, opting for the nearest lifeguard tower and the feeling of the sand beneath our toes. "I'm bringing these, just in case" she said with uncertainty while closing the car door behind her. I rolled my eyes as I shut my own door, watching her stuff the small package in her pocket.

"These" were a pack of parliament lights - pfunks as we call them and in a matter of minutes, my disapproving eye-roll turned into an "okay fine, but only one". Only one just felt right in that moment, and as I sat there staring at the dark ocean and bright stars, puffing on my one cigarette and feeling a nicotine rush for the very first time, my friend stared at me in disbelief and said "I cannot believe you just did that".

She wasn't the first to try to get me to smoke. There were many before her and for some reason or another I had literally been denying the existence of cigarettes for years, following the rules and listening to the warnings of health teachers, my parents and my Aunt Melaine whose voice sounded like some sort of evil villain on account of being a chain smoker for nearly thirty years. It is unclear what it was exactly on that cool night in May that allowed me to take the plunge and rid myself of the long-standing convictions I had about smoking, but I let it all go on that beach and smoked, one and only one.

Three years later, and more cigarette's then either of us would ever like to admit, my roommate and I find ourselves incorporating the "only one" philosophy into daily life, namely that of life on Wednesdays. Here in the "real world", Wednesdays are both good and bad. On one hand the work week is halfway over and the weekend is that much closer, but a lot of the time we have come to find that Wednesdays can be somewhat lack-luster and looking ahead to two more days in the work week can be a real downer. Fortunately for us, not too long after moving to the mile-high city we "accidentally" discovered that the night life here mid-week is not too shabby. That being said, through a bit of trial and error (error being a few really terrible Thursday mornings) we have perfected the act of going out on Wednesday nights and have decided to keep things simple.

Thus, we have implemented a system that not only cures the mid-week blues, but allows for morning-after efficiency and a fully functioning Thursday. Remembering back to that fateful night on the beach, we have developed the "only one" concept into a rule to live by on Wednesdays here in Denver. Whether it be one drink, one smoke, one dance or even one of each, we oftentimes find ourselves beep bopping through the city streets midweek, relieving stress, trying out new happy hour spots and mingling with other young professionals who are looking for the same break in the work week that we are. This Wednesday way of life has led us to flip nights, charity galas, dive bars and networking events and has been the saving grace in what could have been a very mundane post-college weekly routine. It is simple, it is easy and like that night on the beach in La Jolla, it just feels right.

"I can't believe I just did that either" I remember saying to her as we slowly drug our feet back to the car after an hour spent soaking in the stars on the beach and savoring every last puff of the p-funk. Heading back to campus and back to the late night glow of our computer screens in the library, I could have never guessed then that we would both be here in this city now, sharing a house, a routine and every once in a while sharing one drink, one dance, and occasionally, when it just feels right, one cigarette.

Too Short.

"She said she usually cried at least once a day, not because she was sad, but because the world was so beautiful and life was so short. " - Brian Andreas

The Golden Years.

"I want to make a toast" she said standing in the middle of an extremely messy apartment. And as the six of us gathered around her, tripping over various articles of clothing and cracking open our first beers of the evening, there was no doubt that this one would be a real tear jerker. She began slowly, describing how much thinking she had done on the flight out to Denver and how much of it involved us girls. She listed the changes that had occurred in her life in the past two years and briefly touched on those changes that had occurred in the rest of ours, then concluded with a simple statement that really made the tears fall. "Through everything that has changed in our lives since we graduated, the one thing that has remained a constant, is our friendship".

The next morning after recapping the Nuggets game, more beers at my favorite dive bar and one too many rumple-mint shots, I sat in silence staring at my beautiful friends. As their conversation flowed from random make-outs to politics to travel plans and big dreams, I began remembering the toast from the night before, and lost myself in thought.

I remembered the first time I met each of them in college. Some, on the very first day in our sorority, others at random parties first semester freshman year, vying for both the attention and booze belonging to the football player of the week. We began our friendships over beer bongs and late nights on the beach, weary of each other's trust and probably unsure of our own loyalties as well. Through the years our friendships evolved and specific moments, breaking points if you will, brought us closer and cemented the bonds that had been forming over time. Whether it was on a beach while studying abroad, through the resolution of a major argument, or even an honest conversation at the nearest Starbucks, these moments left us in our rawest, realest state and it was in these moments that we let each other in. All the way in.

Then I recalled one of the last nights of college and another very important toast. Sitting around our dining room table with one bottle of champagne, a handful of pens and a sheet of paper for each of us. There we were intertwined in each other, sharing chairs, tickling arms, braiding hair, and practically reenacting the sleepover scene in Grease, minus the curlers. We wrote down our personal goals, we made predictions for the future, we answered questions and wrote notes to ourselves, then we bottled them up and put them away for safe keeping. And when it was all said and done we looked at each other through teary eyes and promised that in ten years we would re-open the bottle, during our golden years, while on a girls-only reunion trip somewhere tropical and warm. I so vividly remember the moment when the first person left the table that night. I didn't want it to end because I was scared that we would lose what we had in that moment, that we would lose each other to jobs, to boyfriends, to grad school, to life. I was scared that that second was as good as it would ever get for us and that the realness and rawness we felt, would fade in time.

Two years later, I found myself in my living room in Colorado staring at those same girls and feeling that same rawness. So much has changed, yet so much feels the exactly same. Through law school, job promotions, teacher of the year awards, stints abroad, parents divorces, parents re-marriages, the ownership of pets, the changing of boyfriends, and many many moves, the one thing that has truly remained the same in all our lives are our friendships with each other. Watching my friends lay together, playing with hair, tickling arms and making jokes that are far too inappropriate for anyone but our gross selves, I realized that our golden years are now and that they will continue for many years to come. That champagne bottle with our dreams in it continues to collect dust and will do so for the next eight years. But while we wait for the bottle to age, we will continue our reunions, our toasts, and our promises to remain close friends. Because as everything in life speeds by and changes us, the one constant that we can absolutely count on, is our friendship, and of course the never-ending inappropriate jokes.

Go.

"Wherever you go, go with all your heart."

All or Nothing.

"I don't want to leave" she said under her visibly cold breath as the two of us walked slowly towards the snow covered car. "you're telling me" I replied sadly as I grabbed the snow scraper and began to pick away at the ice frozen to our windshield. It was 5:45 am on Monday morning and we were heading back to the city and back to reality. As my roommate and I pulled out of the driveway and turned onto the road that would lead us home, I looked behind me and caught one last glimpse of the beautiful house in all it's glory, and I couldn't help but think about the people sleeping soundly within it's massive walls.

The two of us showed up that Friday night like we always do. Praying that we were at the right house, we burst through the front doors dancing and singing, interrupting an all-house board game and probably terrifying the souls of the fifteen people we had yet to meet who were also attending the weekend getaway in Keystone, Colorado. It had been a long, late evening drive up to the mountains for us when the highway was closed due to strong winds and low visibility. There was actually a point when we contemplated turning around and heading home, "It might not be worth it" we said, going back and forth, weighing our options before deciding to ultimately wait out the storm and continue on. "All or nothing" we thought as we braved the blizzard and blared the radio. Two hours and many snowy miles later we found ourselves in that warm kitchen, surrounded by the remnants of a family-style dinner and a room full of complete strangers. Over the next hour, introductions were made, drinks were poured, and we began to settle into a weekend that would come to be something so much more than the casual ski trip we all initially thought it would be.

Saturday morning I woke up to a warm fireplace and the most beautiful snow capped mountains I have seen in a long time. I also woke up to a strange feeling, and contrary to my first belief, it was not just a hangover. The night before had brought board games and vodka tonics, but it had also brought some of the best conversations I have had in a long time and as I recounted the night's events, I realized that in a matter of hours and during one long hot tubbing session, I had become extremely close with the people who were nothing but strangers to me hours before. In the midst of snow ball fights and kitchen dance parties I had found such a comfort in hearing the stories of these perfect strangers and for some reason or another, had felt completely free to tell them my story as well.

I have come to find that people most definitely enter into your life for a reason. Through strong friendships, broken relationships and a lot of small talk with randoms, it is obvious that you can take something away from every person you meet if you really listen to them. In this case, I could not have been more different than most of the people I shared the weekend with. They had years on me, not to mention life experience. Hearing about their struggles, their life choices and the things they had done to get them where they are today made me wonder how and why in God's name it was that our paths had crossed in that town, on that weekend. It was as if everything that had happened in our lives before we met, occurred for a reason and led us up to that exact point, that exact moment in time in Keystone. Regardless of the trials and triumphs we had all been through on our own, fate or something like it brought us together, merged our stories and taught me that when you least expect it, someone will teach you something that will change you.

Friday night I sat across from strangers, Saturday night I sat across from friends, and on Sunday night I'm pretty sure I shared a chair with someone that had become somewhat of a family member and come the end of the weekend, leaving them sounded absolutely miserable. Extending our trip an extra night and slowly killing ourselves with a 5:30am wake up call on Monday morning in order to make it back for work, my roommate and I desperately tried to hold on to as much of the weekend as we could, to squeeze everything possible out of it. Driving back to the city, we sipped on coffee and debriefed the weekend. As we watched the sun rise over the mountains, it's first rays dancing on the snow and sparkling across our eyes I thought back to the conversations had and the friendships that resulted from them. I wondered where the relationships would go and whether I would ever see my new -found friends again. And as we made our way through the snowy pass, I remembered just how close we were to giving into the storm and bagging the whole weekend on the way up, and I really couldn't have been any happier that in the end we chose all instead of nothing.